I managed to avoid getting sick for a week of living on Canal St. in NYC, then a week of living in a house full of my siblings who are all sick (including my hygenically careless 2-year-old brother).
Of course, my luck would run out once I am safely ensconced in my near
antiseptic apartment, miles and miles away from anyone who might infect me
(and equally distant from anyone who could bring me chicken soup).
It was a good sick, though, as such things go. I was dizzy, disoriented, and
my 18-hour nap was fitful and full of surreal images and vivid auditory
hallucinations. I particularly liked the dream where I was attending the
Simon Belmont VII Memorial Institute for Extraterrestrial Hunter/Killer
Studies, hanging upside down by my anti-gravity boots and using a glowing
blunderbuss with ammunition reminiscent of tylenol gel capsules to ring a
huge church bell to signal the start of class.